Brooms, Cats & Chocolate
by SadiraSnape
Summary: What happens when a magical cat, Severus Snape, and Hermione Granger spend a quiet evening together? Part of the coming Epic of Siggy Whetstone.


_Authors' Notes: This scene is part of an ongoing epic involving a natural Legilimens named Sydney (Siggy) Whetstone, a first year student at Hogwarts, his cat Morpheus, Severus Snape (who has become Siggy's guardian following the death of his abusive uncle), and Hermione Granger, who is studying Morpheus, a maneki neko with unusual magical powers. It takes place in roughly 2007 or thereabouts. To set the scene, our protagonists have gone on a trip to the Middle East and Romania over the summer, to collect potions ingredients and to visit Siggy's previous pet, an ashwinder/basilisk cross named Bobby. Over the course of the trip Severus and Hermione are finding that they are developing feelings "of some sort" for each other, and are pondering them to greater (Severus) and lesser (Hermione) degrees. __  
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_This scene takes place after a harrowing day at the dragon preserve, during which Hermione was chased by a Welsh green while mounted on an old, slow broom.__  
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Brooms, Cats and Chocolate

_a collaborative effort by Sinistra_Furze & SadiraSnape_

Ah. The last evening before we return to Scotland, and it has been quite an interesting and illuminating journey.

We finished our final meal with our host and his household, and he has assured me that he will have us all up early, so we should plan to make it an early night. I repaired to the guest lounge and settled down into the soft chair I've claimed as mine. The latest _Practical Potioneer_ was close to hand; I sent silent thanks to our host and soon was absorbed in a fascinating article on the substitution of American Larch (_Larix laricina_) for Masters' Larch (_Larix mastersiana_) in the production of Mind's Ease Draught.

But I found my mind wandering before long – the trip has been very productive, we have collected all the specimens we set out after, including quite a few we stumbled upon along the way. Siggy has discovered a new-found confidence in himself and is building trust with myself and Hermione. Morpheus is not quite so annoying as he has been in the past. And Hermione herself…

Now there's a thought that bears examination. Miss Hermione Granger. I have found an unexpected depth to her that I'm quite sure wasn't there when she was my student. She is less prone to rattling off rote from some book or other, and her commentary is now mostly based in personal experience and considered research. In fact, I have found some of her commentary extremely profound and worthy of further investigation.

She is also quite lovely, something she most assuredly was not as a student. She is what, 26 or 27 now – somewhere along there. She has bloomed into a most beautiful young woman; not an English rose by any means, but something far rarer and much finer than that. You can find an English rose on almost every street corner; lovely it's true, but a common flower for all that. Hermione, though… Hermione is more like a glorious young tree, perhaps a willow, hiding its grace until an errant wind sets the slender branches swaying. She is far deeper than she appears, much like a willow's roots, and I have found her presence to be a balm in these past months, easing a pain I was unaware I had.

I would like to think I can call her "friend". More than that does not bear examination.

While musing on these thoughts, she came into the lounge, perhaps looking for a bedtime read. I imagined she would have a bit of trouble falling asleep, considering the crazed broom ride we'd had that day. Brooms! What an uncivilized mode of transport… it is truly a pity that carpets are no longer allowed in Britain.

I noticed that her hair had finally succeeded in defying her efforts to tame it – but the look was not as surprising as it was in her childhood. It was still full, true, but instead of bushing out like a deranged hedgehog, it now surrounded her head like an auburn cloud, soft and fine of texture. She had it tied back loosely, so it was framing her face rather than obscuring it. A very fetching look for her. With her complexion, you could mistake her for a Da Vinci, Raphael or Botticelli model.

She sank into the sofa with an audible sigh and propped her feet up on the table. I gazed at her for a few moments; there had been quite an extraordinary Burgundy served at our meal, and we had both indulged in it a bit more than was customary – at least I had. I was a bit light-headed, and I saw that she wore a faint blush herself.

I realized I was on the verge of being caught staring, so I cleared my throat and asked after Siggy. Hermione leaned her head back on the sofa and said, "He's probably asleep already."

I hesitated a moment, then before I knew it, I asked, " …and how are you?" Inwardly I cringed. Severus, you dolt. _How _**_are_**_ you? _Are you meeting her for the first time? God…

During my internal castigation, she had apparently actually given the question some thought. "I'm tired and a little tense," she replied thoughtfully. Tense! Well, I could do something about that. I reached into my pocket and produced a large bar of Honeyduke's Best Chocolate, something I keep with me at all times. Partly for it's magical properties, but mostly because I'm quite a fiend for chocolate. Best thing to come out of the Age of Exploration, if anyone is interested in the opinion of Severus Snape. I rose and crossed to her.

"Here," and I extended the bar to her. "This should help." She eyed the bar with some trepidation – what, did she think I was going to poison her? I stood there for a few moments, and just before I began to pull my hand back, she accepted it. Thank Merlin, that was almost too awkward for words. I had an image of myself standing in the lounge, tall and skinny (again), trying to force a bar of chocolate on an unwilling young woman. Severus, will you _never_ learn to be comfortable with other people? Probably not, I answered myself. Especially when your every move is scrutinized for some ulterior motive.

Hermione unwrapped the chocolate and broke off a large piece, which she then broke into two and, to my surprise, offered back to me! I accepted it, and stood there like a great ninny staring at her, waiting for her to eat. She stared back at me, one eyebrow raised. Was she truly worried there was something odd about the chocolate? I frowned a bit, and said, "It's not just for dementors, you know."

"No," she burst out. "It's for birthdays and apologies and watching trashy movies with your friends!"

Trashy movies? Really… I never would have guessed. But then no one knows I often sneak into Edinburgh to indulge my penchant for Asian horror movies… and yes, chocolate works nicely there.

Hermione scooted over on the sofa and patted the seat next to her. "Why not sit so we can share?" she said. I stepped over and sat down, rather abruptly too, the wine seemed to have affected my balance a bit. And wouldn't you know, as soon as I got settled, here came Morpheus, who immediately hopped up on my lap, turned about three times, and settled in rather smugly, purring like a demented sewing machine. Almost of their own volition, my hands lifted, one sliding around to cradle the cat's chest and front legs, the other slowly stroking his black, glossy fur. So soft, so warm, the vibration of his purrs resounding through my hands and legs, calming my thoughts and filling me with comfort and contentment… strange…

Hermione shifted slightly, and set the chocolate between us. We both settled in, staring into the middle distance, in a very comfortable and content mutual silence. I thought back over the day, and the broom incident… the terror that struck me as I saw her begin to fall behind as the dragon chased her, the relief I felt as my binding charm locked firmly onto her, the terror my evasive maneuvering would unseat her anyway, and the sudden flare of rage when we landed and I found that oaf Gregor with his arm around her, as if _he'd_ done anything to prevent disaster beyond run for cover when he saw the dragon…

I felt very badly for her, looking so frail and windblown, sick and frightened, and The Oaf worried more about his precious _brooms_ than this shattered young woman. I looked down and shook my head, sneering at his stupidity. Then I strode up to her, touched her elbow, and led her toward the nearby stream. I stopped at a nearby bilberry bush and picked a handful, then offered them to her. She looked up at me as though I was offering her burning coals; I rolled my eyes and said, "They're only bilberries, Hermione. Eat them, you'll feel better." She took them and I went to fetch her some water from the stream.

I added a small amount of Calming Draught to the water before I brought it back – she needed to relax. I handed it to her, then began looking for Resurrection Flower, which does grow in this area. I found quite a few in a small dip near the stream, and collected them – good, I was running low. When I headed back to Hermione, I found she was sleeping.

I sat down beside her and watched her sleep. She was very pale, and her brow was faintly knit – no doubt due to bad dreams from the dragon chase. The breeze softly ruffled her hair, which had escaped from its clip and was spread around her head. A strand flipped across her face, and I reached out to gently move it away. Her brow unknit, and her breathing deepened.

At that moment The Oaf bellowed that we needed to be getting back. I sighed, and gently touched Hermione on the shoulder. "You need to wake up, now," I said. Slowly she came out of her drowse, and looked around with a charmingly bewildered air, her eyes big and soft with sleep. Then they cleared, and I saw panic flash into them over the thought of another broom ride.

"Don't worry; I believe your broom is a total loss. You will ride with me, and I will keep you safe. I also have a Calming Draught if you'd like some."

She nodded, and I gave her the flask. "Just one sip, it's rather strong," I admonished. She handed the flask back, gathered her Gryffindor bravery about her like a cloak, and nodded once. "Let's go," she said.

We flew back, Hermione mounted before me, with my free arm clasped firmly about her supple waist, pulling her back against my chest. I had charmed my cloak to gather around us to block the wind and keep us warm, and underneath it her hands clutched my wrist and forearm, first with terror, then with exhilaration. I think she'll be able to fly again, as long as she rides with someone she trusts for a while. She settled back against me most delightfully, and I was hard-pressed to keep my mind on my flying. Toward the end of our trip it was a decided difficulty to do so – all I can say is thank Merlin for wizards' robes and billowing cloaks!

And now here we were, drowsily sharing a sofa and a bar of chocolate, thinking our thoughts and – could it be? – enjoying each other's silent company.

I looked over at her, and surprised a deep blush staining her cheeks and throat. What in the world… was she thinking of our homeward flight too? I know how I reacted, but is it possible…? Ridiculous thought, Severus, you're old enough to be her father. No doubt she was reliving the embarrassment of losing her control in front of The Oaf.

Fumbling around for something to say, all that sprang to mind was, "You look a bit pink…" God, you're smooth, Severus. Inwardly I cringed and clutched my head.

She cleared her throat and murmured something about too much wine. Right. Wine has taken the blame for so much through the ages.

Our silent companionship broken, I cast about for something to say. She took another piece of chocolate, and after a moment so did I. Morpheus, almost forgotten, seemed to add another decibel or two to his purr. My anxiety flowed away under the onslaught, and I relaxed.

"What do you intend to do when you get back? Will you return to the Ministry or do you have other plans?" I asked. I had no idea where that came from.

"I'm not sure," she mused. "I'd like to stay in contact with Siggy; he's a lovely child with a lot of potential."

My heart leaped in my chest. Odd. "I was hoping you would," I replied. "It will benefit him to have an adult outside of the School he can confide in. Not to mention he seems to genuinely like you."

Morpheus' purrs were lulling me deeper into a comfortable, warm, half-waking state. It would be wonderful if she could stay at Hogwarts… perhaps I should ask Albus if there was a post she could take. A witch of her ability shouldn't be wasted at the Ministry, shuffling papers and stamping forms… Perhaps it was time for me to take the Defence Against the Dark Arts duties, now the curse was lifted… She would be an admirable Potions instructor…

Suddenly I felt a gentle pressure on my shoulder. She had slowly drifted across the sofa, laid her head on my shoulder, and gone to sleep. It seemed I should wake her and bid her good night, but she was so warm, the room was so warm, the cat was so warm, the purring was so warm….

Some time later my eyes drifted open. My head was pillowed on Hermione's head, which was pillowed on my shoulder. Her hand was lying palm up on the empty chocolate wrapper, and mine was lying on top of hers. I knew I should move, but I couldn't. Morpheus was sleeping smugly on my lap, and I would swear the creature had a smile on his face. I began to frown at him, then felt Hermione stir. I jumped a bit when she moved, which awakened Morpheus. He peered up at me, smirked, and settled back down. If ever a cat ate a canary, this one had…

While I fixed the cat with one of my best glares, Hermione staggered to her feet, mumbling something about going to bed. Not having caught the first part, my eyes flew to hers, my mouth partly open. "Thank you for everything," she said, and waited for a moment as if she expected me to say something. Nothing – nothing at all – crossed my mind. I was completely blank.

"Good night, then," she said, and left the room. I looked down at the cat, who was once again purring happily and regarding me with a particularly self-satisfied gaze. There is much more to this cat than meets the eye.

I stood up, dumping him unceremoniously on the floor. He gave a _rowrl_ of displeasure. "It's more than you deserve, you match-making old flea hotel," I growled at him. He stood up, flicked his tail dismissively at me, and strolled off to join Siggy. I made my way to my own bed, where I lay awake for quite some time, trying to decide exactly what had happened. But before I could come to any conclusions, I had fallen into a deep and dreamless sleep.


End file.
